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“Because if I don’t she’ll just keep calling.” Charlotte sighs and I take this opportunity to shift gears.
“So let’s finish this conversation. Not to rush you out or anything, but if I don’t get at least six hours of sleep, I’m a zombie the next day.”
Charlotte follows me back into the living room and we take our seats again. “Oh my God, right? I swear I used to be able to survive on three hours and a few cups of coffee. Now, getting a crappy night’s sleep feels like surviving a hangover.”
“The perks of getting older,” I joke.
“Turning thirty has done cruel and unusual things to my body.”
I try to block out the images of Charlotte’s body from my mind with her comment, but I fail miserably. “Do you realize that we’ve known each other for over twenty years?”
“Yes,” she says. “I was thinking about that when I ran into you at the restaurant when I was with the girls.”
“Speaking of which, should we say that’s how we reconnected since it did happen, and that way we don’t have to remember another lie?” I suggest.
“Yeah, that makes sense.”
“Cool. Now I think we should know what we were both up to between high school and college. I mean, for purely selfish reasons, I want to know just how much trouble you got yourself into without worrying about beating me at everything.” I smirk as Charlotte narrows her eyes at me.
“Sorry to disappoint you, but I was primarily focused on school.”
“I call bullshit. Those girls you call your friends? They had to have played a part in you making some piss poor decisions. I mean, I know for a fact I woke up naked a few times in college and had no idea what happened the night before thanks to my buddies.”
“Why does that not surprise me?” She rolls her eyes. “But sorry to break it to you, my college life was fairly timid. I studied hard and got an internship at Revision, then worked my way up to where I’m at now.”
“Fine. Don’t give me all the dirt just yet. But I know you had fun. It just shows that you’re human, Charlotte. I always thought you were part robot growing up. You made everything you did look so easy.”
“Ha! Easy for you to say. You’re the one who never had to study and would still do better on tests than me.”
My face falls and then I’m clearing my throat. It’s true. I barely had to study, but the pressure to beat her wasn’t just coming from me. She doesn’t need to know all of the details about that yet though. “I actually had to study our senior year for once, especially for Calculus. There was no way I was going to pass that class without a little effort.”
Charlotte’s eyes go wide. “Wow.” And then her grin catches on one side. “Tell me something you’re not good at, Damien.”
“Like?”
She shrugs. “Anything. I feel like I always painted you out to be this guy who could do anything flawlessly. But now I know that everything I thought I knew can’t all be true.”
I inhale deeply, pondering my answer. “I can’t cook.”
She shakes her head. “No, you already told me that. Something else.”
I stare up at the ceiling in thought. And then decide maybe this is a good time to bare part of my truth to her. “You’re not the only one with a parent that’s hard to please.”
She rears back in her seat, her smile diminishing with each passing second. “What?”
“Yeah.” I brush my hand through my hair. “So don’t beat yourself up over your mom, because if you knew how much pressure my dad put on me, you might be grateful your mom is as easy as she is.”
“Damien…”
A notification pings from my phone, interrupting our conversation. “Shit. Sorry.” I leap from my chair and grab my phone, seeing a reminder about my early morning meeting. And that’s when I glance at the time on the screen. “Shit. It’s almost nine.”
“Really?” She stands and then makes her way over to me, grabbing her phone from her purse. “Yikes. Well, I’d better be going.”
“Yeah. But we didn’t make our list.”
She places a hand on her hip, staring at the ceiling. Then she lowers her head and stares me down. “One, no kissing with tongue. A brush on the lips is only necessary if the situation warrants it. Deal?”
Fuck. Does that mean she might actually let me kiss her? Why are you suddenly filled with excitement, Damien?
I play it cool. “Okay.”
“Two, do not touch my ass.”
I smile, I can’t fucking help it. “Alright.” You didn’t say anything about staring at it though.
“And three, if either of us feels like this is getting out of hand, we put a stop to it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I don’t want to create problems for you or me, and even though I know things are bound to get complicated, I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
I nod, knowing that I already feel like I’m in too deep, but there’s no going back now. “Deal.”
“Then let’s shake on it,” she says, holding her hand out to me. I intercept her hand and give it a little squeeze while wondering what her hand would feel like squeezing my cock instead.
It’s shitty thoughts like that that will make this harder to get through if you don’t knock it off, Damien.
“I know this may come as a surprise, but I actually had a really good time, Charlotte.”
“Me too.” She smiles, her eyes bright and lighter than I’ve ever seen them, hinting at the subtle ring of yellow around her irises in the sea of chocolate brown I could stare at for a few minutes longer than necessary. “It was nice to get out of my apartment at night for a change.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. I was beginning to feel like Jennifer Lopez in The Wedding Planner…”
“Never saw it.”
“Oh my God.” She rolls her eyes. “Well, there’s this scene where she comes home from work, changes her clothes, cooks her own dinner, and sits in front of the television watching her favorite shows. She has this routine where everything has to be in the perfect place and in the same order.” She shrugs and then stares down at the floor. “I guess I just feel like that’s what life has been like lately.”
“I can see that. Things get pretty mundane around here too.”
“Well, nothing like a fake relationship and childhood enemies reconnecting to break you out of a funk, am I right?” she jokes.
And that makes me laugh. “Right. Well, get home safe, and I’ll pick you up tomorrow around seven. Just text me your address.”
Suddenly, she seems nervous as she walks to my door and I follow her. “Okay.” Just as she reaches for the knob, her purse slides off her shoulder and falls to the floor, the contents spilling everywhere. “Shit.”
“Here, let me help you,” I say as we both bend down and avoid bumping heads just barely. Lipstick, keys, and hair clips cover the floor—but it’s the Dove chocolates that catch my eye. “You carry chocolate around in your purse?”
“Uh, yes. Is that a problem?”
